


over and out, she said

by orphan_account



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 21:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Here’s the thing about new guys in group: they always want to ask Frank questions. “Pete,” they say, approaching from behind, in good humor, with good intentions, “Pete, whatcha doin’ after this, huh? How about we grab a bite. What d'you say, Pete?”





	over and out, she said

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for any typos.
> 
> title source: [over and out - alkaline trio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYbnSyAsGdA).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Curtis is real good at finding fresh faces to bring to group. Damn good. Finds a vet when they don’t want to be found, but need to be, and brings them over. Maybe it takes a couple of days or a week of gentle prodding to convince them to drop by, but they always do. Maybe they don’t talk and stay guarded, acting like tough shit before they actually start listening to what the others are trying to tell them.

Here’s the thing about new guys in group: they always want to ask Frank questions. “Pete,” they say, approaching from behind, in good humor, with good intentions, “Pete, whatcha doin’ after this, huh? How about we grab a bite. What d'you say, Pete?”

All the time, Frank says, “I’m just—headed home, you know? Get some sleep. While I can.” And that’s true, a cold fact. Sometimes he sleeps, sometimes he doesn’t; when he does he dreams, and it’s rarely ever a blessing when he does.

On a cold, damp night, after group, he breaks pattern. He shatters the routine. Because these boys won’t quit when he tells them he just wants some goddamn sleep after listening to them talk for what feels like days and days—which they laugh at, and have learned, mostly from Curtis, to brush off.

“Come on, Castiglione,” one of them says in the doorway as Frank helps Curtis put away chairs, “you’re like a goddamn hermit. Might as well come get a drink while you’re still breathing, yeah?”

Frank snorts.

“C’mon! What, you got a date or something? Come out with us.”

Frank looks at the kids—yeah, yeah, they’re just fucking kids, goddamn—standing in the doorway with their shit-eating grins. Their eyes, for now, are bright; he knows ‘em now, he knows they got shit on their hands and in their veins, and hell—he doesn’t really have in him to lie to these kids. Not like he ever would in the first place, but—still.

“As a matter of fact,” Frank says, “I do,” and he shakes his head and turns his back on the wolf-whistles and the howling, knowing that his friends did the exact same thing when he told them about Maria all those years ago, “but now, I know that’s not something you’d know about.” This gets a laugh out of them. “Hey,” one of them protests through wheezing breaths, “I go on lots of dates!”

“Sure you do,” another scoffs, elbowing him in the side. Frank bites down on the inside of his mouth to keep himself from grinning.

“Ge outta here,” he says, waving them out, and they eventually leave, piling out into the cold night air. He helps Curtis with the rest of the chairs. It’s late when he’s heading out into the dark. He takes his cell phone out of his pocket, dials a number he knows by heart, and listens to it ring.

When she picks up, she sounds dead-tired. Like he just woke her. “Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat, “yeah, what—I’m here.”

“Hey,” he says, “you, uh—you busy?”

“Frank?” The way her voice catches, it does something stupid to his insides. Like he’s got goddamn butterflies in his chest that stir at the sound of her voice when he’s alone in the cold dark on nights like this. “No—no, I was just—no. What do you need?”

“I was—uh, just—can I come over? Maybe have a drink, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” she says without hesitation—without a single thought as to what time it is or how, if they were two ordinary people, he should have called her in the morning instead of waking her, “yeah, I’ve got—is coffee okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, that’s good.”

“Okay,” she says, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, more to himself than to her, “yeah, soon.”

Karen hangs up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
